Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Ashland
She's here. In my cabin. Breathing the same air as I am.
After six years of watching from the shadows and rooftops and the fucking tree line behind her apartment.
Six years of memorizing the rhythm of her sleep, the way she hums in the shower, and the exact angle of morning light that makes her hair look like spilled ink.
Bianca White is in the middle of my cabin, and I can hardly breathe.
I have her blindfolded and handcuffed on the sofa, and it should make me feel like shite that the source of my obsession is right here in front of me, and that I had to force her here.
But it doesn't. No.
I’m fucking elated .
I lean over when she starts to shiver.
She's coming to.
My sweet girl is coming to.
I'm nervous, wiping my sweaty palms on my trousers to stop them from shaking.
The fuck is wrong with me? I'm never nervous.
I knew that once she was at Crowning's, my job to protect her would be made ten times harder. As soon as I found out this was her plan, I made my move.
I took her. I brought her here, where it’s safe. But I never really thought about what it would be like… being near her. Never let myself even dream.
I let out a shuddering breath. I've faced terrifying men and impossible situations and won, and the little sweet lass has me damn near tremblin'. Feel a bit like the proverbial elephant terrified of a wee mouse.
I'll take her blindfold off first so she can look at me, but I'll have to keep her wrists secured. She's like a scared little kitten and might hurt herself.
I lean closer. In my most soothing voice, I tell her, “Shh, it's okay now. I promise. You're safe. I know you're probably scared, and I'm sorry for that. But eventually, you'll understand that I had to do this.”
I reach for the back of her head and untie the blindfold. It falls to the couch, and she blinks up at me, her gorgeous eyes bleary and unfocused .
And Christ, I'm hard. I'm fucking hard just from having her look at me, just from seeing those blue eyes finally focused on my face instead of through a telephoto lens. Six fuckin' years of celibacy.
But that’s not why she’s here.
“Easy, lass,” I say, reaching for her, but she scrambles away from me with wide, terrified eyes.
I know what she sees when she looks at me—her captor with a shaved head, a scar across a brow, with ink on my arms and neck and any visible skin.
I would never hurt her, but she doesn't know that, does she?
“Please.” Her voice cracks, and something in my chest cracks with it. “Please just let me go. Don't hurt me. I won't tell anyone. I promise I won't.”
“Shh.” I kneel beside her and run my thumb under her eye, wiping away a tear. “Shh,” I say again, keeping my voice low and controlled, everything I'm not feeling inside.
She shakes her head and pulls away from me. I reach a hand out to steady her when she pushes to her feet, but she flinches. So I let her. I'll give her as much space as I can, as long as she doesn't hurt herself.
“Now, lass, you'll be a bit wobbly on your feet. You need to sit down and listen to me. Alright?” But I don't pursue her. Not yet. There's no need to push her .
Bianca shakes her head and backs toward the door, her beautiful eyes wide and wet, her fair skin even paler in the dim light.
Every muscle in my body screams to close the distance. To cage her against that door with my body. To show her she can't run from me.
But I don't. I force myself to stay still, my hands clenched at my sides, knuckles white. The same hands that have broken bones and ended lives, shaking because I won't let myself touch her. Not yet. Not until she understands.
She's still wearing that gorgeous dress, bridal white and innocent, with an old-fashioned touch of lace at her neckline. I watched her put it on this morning through her bedroom window. I watched her smile at herself in the mirror, like she had something to look forward to.
She has no idea what I saved her from tonight, and it will probably take a while before she learns the truth.
“Bianca.” My voice is quiet but firm. This doesn't come naturally to me. Why does it take so much goddamn effort to be gentle?
Her hand reaches for the doorknob.
“ Stop .” It comes out harsher than I intended. Can't fucking help it. Even though I want to be gentle with her, every instinct in me is to grab her. To hold her. To shake her and make her understand that I did this for her own damn good.
“Let me go! ”
“Now, lass, I can't do that. If you listen, I can?—”
“You're out of your mind. You took me. You drugged me and took me!” Her voice rises, panic threading through each word. “What are you going to do with me?” She chokes on the words. “Please don't hurt me.” Her pleading breaks my heart into little bits.
She thinks I've brought her here to assault her. Of course she does. Why wouldn't she? I'm twice her size and thirteen years older.
“I won't hurt you.” I try again. “Sit.”
“Sit? You kidnapped me. Do you understand that? You'll go to jail for this! You took me.”
I walk slowly closer, keeping my voice low and calm. “I know what I did.”
“Then let me go,” she says, shaking. The desperation in her voice nearly breaks me.
I step toward her. Just one more step, and she flinches as if I raised a hand to her.
Fuck. The sound that escapes my throat is barely human. Like I'd ever hurt her. Like I haven't spent six years keeping every other bastard from so much as breathing wrong in her direction. Like I didn't once break a man's fucking jaw for being rude to her in class.
Probably best she doesn't know that.
Like I haven't spent six years of my life putting everything on the line, making sure no one and nothing else ever could.
“I can't do that.” I stop and force myself to stay still, even though I want to close the distance between us. “Come sit down, Bianca, and we'll talk about this.”
“Talk about this?” Her laugh is brittle, edged with something like hysteria. “You drugged me. You threw me in a car, and you brought me to—” She looks around frantically. “Where even are we?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Safe.” She's breathing too fast now, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath that innocent dress. “You think this is safe? You think I feel safe with you?”
She should feel safer with me than anywhere else in the world because there's nowhere she’s safer than with me. But I can't tell her that when she's looking at me like I'm the villain in her fairy tale.
“You'll see,” I say quietly. “Eventually.”
“I have a fiancé,” she says, trying to sound brave, almost defiant. “Marcus is going to find me. He's going to?—”
“Marcus Crowning is the reason you're fucking here, and he would do fuck all to save you.”
That stops her. For a second, confusion flickers across her face, chasing away some of the fear. “Are you one of his enemies?” she asks.
“Oh, you could say that. ”
She's so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at her. Pale skin, dark hair cascading around her shoulders, red lips parting in shock. How beautiful. A princess in a world full of monsters.
“What do you mean?” she says.
“If you sit down, we'll have a reasonable conversation.”
“No.” She strains against the cuffs, and I see the steel beneath the softness. Good. She'll need that. “Tell me right now. What does Marcus have to do with this?”
I study her for a long moment, watching the way she bites her lip when she's scared. The way her fingers twist in front of her stomach. The way she won't break eye contact with me, even though I can see she wants to.
My brave little princess.
“Your fiancé,” I say slowly, knowing before I even say the words that she won't believe it, “has killed two women before you. You're in line to be the third.”
The color drains from her face, but she shakes her head. “I'm supposed to believe a kidnapper?” She shakes her head harder. “You're lying.”
“He had two women before you, lass. All young. All innocent. All with the same fucking profile.” I keep my voice flat, emotionless. Because if I let myself feel what I'm feeling right now, I'll lose control, and I won’t do that. “Fair skin. Dark-blue eyes. Brunettes. All dead within a year. ”
“That's…” She shakes her head and backs up. “That's impossible. You’re wrong. He would never?—”
“Marcus Crowning is a fucking psychopath. He gets off on hurting women, lass.”
“Says the man who fucking kidnapped me,” she says. “My god. How am I supposed to believe you?”
I knew this conversation would go nowhere. I draw in a breath and let it out, and that's when she sees her mobile on the end table.
“You took my phone.” Her voice rises. “What did you do with it?”
“That's none of your concern,” I tell her.
As soon as I had her here, I opened it. Of course she didn't have it fucking locked. She's too damn trusting. I sent a message to Marcus and a message to her mam. Tried my best to sound just like her.
I've decided I need a break before the ceremony. I hope you understand. I'm not going with you tonight. I'm going on a little bit of a trip by myself. Please give me the space that I need.
That'll buy us some time anyway—a week or so. Hopefully, by then, it'll be enough.
“What did you do?” she repeats.
I shake my head. “Marcus chose you because you're sweet and innocent. Because breaking something pure is what he likes. ”
“Stop it.” She brings her hands up as if to cover her ears, but she's still bound at the wrists. “Stop it. Stop lying,” she says, insistent and stubborn, like a child who doesn't want to go to bed.
“I'm not lying, Bianca.”
“How do you know who I am? How do you know who Marcus is? My god.” She's shaking. “It's too much. This is too much. Am I hallucinating? Am I even awake right now? My god.”
“Alright, now let’s take things nice and slow. Breathe, love.”
She shakes her head, heat rising in her flushed cheeks. “You took me. And you're lying.”
“I'm not.”